


A Void In All Things

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Circle of Magi, Eluvians, Friends of Red Jenny, Grey Wardens, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Lore-Compliant, Multi, Multiple Plotlines, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Trespasser, in theory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: Over a year has passed since the Inquisition was disbanded. To many the world appears settled, but across Thedas new conflicts are brewing.In Denerim, two Friends of Red Jenny are recruited to hunt a dangerous criminal. An unexpected election rocks Rialto's Circle of Magi. Caravans on the Imperial Highway are harried by unknown attackers.Behind it all, a larger storm gathers.[Multiple plotlines, multiple canon and original characters, multiple pairings - updates planned for every Thursday!]





	1. Friends In Low Places

**Author's Note:**

> [returns to the fandom 3 years late with starbucks]

Bann Conwy stumbled out of the Pearl and onto the filth-encrusted street beyond. Ordinarily he would have been worried about soiling his garments, but he had consumed a great deal of wine over course of the evening and such things were far from his mind. He swayed as he walked the length of the pavement, pressing his hands to the wall of the building next to him him for support.

His lodgings were to the south. He was sure of that. The difficulty was remembering precisely which direction south  _ was _ . Night had long since fallen, and the unfamiliar twist of streets on this side of the river were even harder to navigate in the dark. Pressing on, Conwy turned down an alley which he seemed to recall traversing earlier that day.

He was halfway down it before he realised he had made a mistake. It was narrow, pitch-black, the ground unpaved and marshy beneath his feet. He tripped on a pile of refuse, and was appalled when a rodent the size of a cat scuttled over his feet. He cried out - and heard an answering chuckle behind him.

Conwy was about to turn around to see who had laughed when he felt something sharp press against the base of his neck. Suddenly he felt cold, and sober as a judge. He was being robbed. Inwardly he cursed himself for bringing such a heavy purse out that evening.

“Take the money,” he swallowed. It’s yours, I swear it. I won’t resist.”

“This isn’t about the pissing money.” The voice was young, female. Not what Conwy had expected at all. “You can turn around, but slow-like. Don’t go for your little dagger, or I’ll put an arrow through  _ your  _ little dagger, alright?”

Conwy did as he was asked, taking one slow step away from the weapon at his neck and turning to face his would-be attacker. The shadows made it hard to discern her features, but he could tell two things for certain; that she was an elf, and that the arrow she had nocked could kill him in a heartbeat.

“What do you want?” Conwy said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “Anything you want, anything. I have jewelry, back at my lodgings, you could come and-”

“Shut it,” the elf snapped. “Andraste’s arse, but you lot love to talk. Try listening now. Could save your bacon.”

Conwy shut his mouth with an audible  _ click _ .

“Better,” she said. She lowered her arrow, just a touch. “Conwy, isn’t it? Bann of somewhere or other?”

Conwy nodded. He considered telling her his Bannorn, but thought better of it.

“Thought so. We’ve heard about you. Not good stuff. Stuff like ‘three taxes in a year’. Stuff like ‘beats his servants’. Stuff like ‘pushes himself on the maids’.  _ That  _ sort of stuff.”

Conwy opened his mouth to protest when the moonlight caught the wicked-looking tip of the woman’s arrow. He swallowed down his anger, letting it churn in his belly instead. That this elf was making accusations against him was one thing; that all of them were true was another matter entirely.

“Here’s the deal,” she continued. “We don’t hear any more stuff about you, and you get to keep breathing. Good deal, right? And if you don’t…” She paused for a moment, and even in the darkness Conwy could make out the grin on her face. “Well. Then me and my friend here come round for another chat.”

“What friend?” Conwy spoke without thinking.

The elf nodded over his shoulder. “That one.”

Conwy looked behind him, then yelped in surprise. A man stood not two yards behind him, sword drawn and shield upon his arm. Conwy had not heard him approach, despite the weight of his armour.

“Good evening,” the man said. His accent was more clipped than his companion’s.

“What is this?” Conwy asked, outrage suddenly outstripping his fear. “What do you want?”

“She just told you,” the other man replied, irritation creeping into his voice. “You stop mistreating your people and we don’t kill you. It’s not a difficult concept to understand.”

“I- I don’t-” The Bann looked between his two aggressors, struggling for words that might appease them. “Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll do as you say. I swear it. Please just- just let me go.”

“What do you think?” the man said idly, clearly addressing the elf. “Do you trust him?”

“No,” she said. “But that’s nothing new.” Stepping forward, she pressed the tip of her arrow into the Bann’s chest, against the soft flesh where the ribs parted. “Promise us. Promise you’ll do as you’re told.”

“I promise,” Conwy said. “I promise, I do.”

She leaned closer, until he could feel her breath tickling his ear. “Next time you think about doing something prickish, remember us. Think of Red Jenny, alright? Now piss off.”

She had barely lowered her bow before Bann Conwy was off, pushing past her and pelting towards the mouth of the alley. The elf and her human companion watched him go, stumbling through the dark towards the street beyond.

“Did he just piss his pants?” Sera said. “Please tell me he did.”

“Hard to make out in the dark.” Peran sheathed his sword, then rolled out his shoulders. “Anything else on the agenda tonight?”

“Nope,” Sera shook her head. “He was the last one. Drinks or home?”

“Home. I'm exhausted.”

They walked back to the market district, keeping to the back alleys lest they cross paths with the Bann again. Denerim was alive with revellers at this time of night, and the sound of music and laughter drifted out from taverns across the city.

Eventually they came to the street where they kept their lodgings. Peran let them in through the side door so as not to disturb their neighbours. An old cobbler and his son lived on the ground floor of the tiny building, while Peran and Sera rented the rooms above. It was an inconspicuous little place, and it suited their purposes wonderfully.

Dagna was still awake when they walked into the sitting room. She was tinkering about with a piece of drakestone and a diamond stylus, but put both down when they entered.

“Welcome home,” she grinned. “Good night?”

“The usual.” Sera flopped down onto the floor beside her, kissing the dwarf on the forehead. “Helped some people, scared some people.  _ Think _ we made a bloke wet his breeches.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Peran said. He sat down in a chair by the hearth and began unbuckling the straps that lashed his shield to his arm.

“You need some help with that?” Dagna asked.

He shook his head. “I’m just about getting used to it now. Still gets a little heavy after a while.”

“Might be stored energy,” the dwarf mused. “I’ll take another look at the runes tomorrow.”

Peran undid the last strap, carefully lifting the shield and prosthetic away and placing them on the table beside him. He was still amazed by what Dagna had achieved; sometimes he almost felt his fingers gripping the enarmes, though he knew that was pure imagination. It had been over a year since he had lost his arm, and with the help of Dagna’s clever engineering he was starting to get used to it.

“Fancy a hand of Wicked Grace before you turn in?” Sera asked. “You still owe me for that last game. And the one before."

“I think I’ll leave you to it tonight, if it’s all the same,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Sera stuck her tongue out at him. “Boring.”

Peran wished them both goodnight, then retired to his room. As he closed the door behind him he could hear Sera and Dagna laughing at some joke. Likely at his expense, though he didn’t mind that. It pleased him to see them happy.

He checked the crystal in his bedside table, but it was dull and cold to the touch. It would be early evening in Minrathous, and Senate meetings were likely still going on. He put it back before sitting down on the edge of his bed, yawning.

Peran wondered when he had begun to feel his age. He was still a few years shy of forty, yet at times he already felt like an old man. In the last five years he had seen and done more than most folk did in a lifetime. His months in Denerim felt like a holiday in comparison.

There were days when he felt a pang of regret for disbanding the Inquisition, but it never lasted for long. He was still certain that he had made the right choice. The year that had passed since had gone quickly; the organisation that had taken so long to build had been dismantled in no time at all.

His friends, too, had gone their separate ways. Dorian to Minrathous, Varric to Kirkwall, Cassandra to Val Royeaux. His sister was kept busy with the College of Enchanters. Even Blackwall - Rainier now, he must get used to that - had found a new path to follow. After years of playing the Warden he had decided to make his lie legitimate, and had passed his Joining some six months previously. Peran had heard little from him since.

That left his last and most unlikely friend.

When Peran had been building his standard Sera had expressed concern about what it stood for. He had told her then that he would be a champion of the people. Once the Inquisition was no more, he could think of no better time to begin making good on that promise. So he had taken Sera up on the offer she had made at the Exalted Council, and joined the Red Jennies in action as well as word.

For a while they had worked out of Val Royeaux, but it soon became clear that the former Inquisitor was still too much of a familiar face in those parts. Eventually they moved their operation to Denerim, where Sera still had a number of contacts from her days in Ferelden. Dagna came with them, of course. One could not have Sera without her.

They had been in the city for several months now, making connections and harassing nobles. In comparison to what they had left behind it was a quiet life. Peran found that he enjoyed it.

Reluctant as he had been to join the Inquisition, by the end he had been proud of what they had achieved. His experience with the eluvians had shaken him, however. The barely avoided Qunari invasion and his confrontation with Solas troubled him in a way that Corypheus never had. What he had seen beyond the mirrors was bigger than him - bigger than the Inquisition could ever hope to be. Sera’s insistence on ‘little baddies’ suddenly made much more sense. Finding problems that he could actually fix gave him some of his agency back. Helped him to feel in control again.

Peran stifled another yawn. The night was weighing heavily upon him. He could hear Sera and Dagna speaking in the next room, their voices hushed. Extinguishing the lamp, he laid down to sleep.


	2. Rialto

A knock sounded at Alva’s door. Soft at first, then more insistent.

“Come in,” she called, her mouth full of twists of gold wire.

The mirror on Alva’s vanity table reflected the door of her chambers, and she watched as a copper-haired elven woman entered the room.

“We’re going to be late.” Terese spoke with no preamble, sitting down on the foot of Alva’s bed. “They’re not going to wait for us, you know.”

“I know,” Alva said. “I’ve almost finished. Hang on.” With deft hands she wrapped a length of patterned silk around each of her horns, securing the fabric in place with the supple wire. She examined her reflection in the mirror for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Alva stood and adjusted the sash of her robes. At her full height she towered over her friend, but Terese still glowered at her as if she were a naughty child.

“Is all this really necessary?” she asked. “It’s an election, not a ball.”

“It’s a formal event, Terese. We should at least make the effort. You wore those robes yesterday.”

Terese sniffed surreptitiously at her sleeve. “Still fine. Come  _ on _ now, or we’ll have to go in through the servant’s entrance again.”

The two women made their way through the winding corridors, Terese hurrying Alva along all the while. Several fresh-faced apprentices stopped to gawp at them as they passed, and Alva forced herself to smile sweetly back at them. It was always the same when a new intake of apprentices arrived. Most of them had likely never seen a qunari before, let alone in the garb of a Circle mage. The novelty would wear off soon enough.

Terese and Alva arrived in the Great Hall just as the First Enchanter was calling the gathered crowd to order. They slipped into seats at the back of the room, trying to keep themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Alva looked out across the hall as the conversations fell away into silence. Tiers of seating curved around the stage where the Senior mages sat, flanked by armoured Templars. The room was panelled in dark wood and illuminated by magical lamps, their soft glow barely necessary in the afternoon sunlight. The brisk, saline smell of the ocean drifted in through the open windows.

There was a familiar comfort to the Great Hall on days like this. Surrounded by her friends and colleagues, Alva felt almost at peace. The air was warm, the atmosphere festive. Yet all was not well. There were far too many empty seats in the room. Not that anyone would acknowledge it, of course.

After Divine Victoria reinstated the Circles less than half of their membership had returned, rejoining those few Loyalists who had remained in Rialto after the schism. Since then even more had left, drifting away in ones and twos to join the College of Enchanters or to live as apostates. The war had left the Circle a shadow of its former self. Even now, years after the first rebellions, they were still no closer to rebuilding.

Alva put these thoughts from her mind for now. The elections were a crucial step towards restoring the Circle’s former glory. With the Libertarians all but gone, the balance of power was weighted almost equally between the Loyalists and the more moderate Aequitarians. If the results of this vote tipped the scales in either direction it could vastly change the landscape of Circle politics. Alva had voted almost exclusively for mages with Loyalist leanings, though she had made an exception for Terese. Her friend was an accomplished scholar and deserved to be made Enchanter, even if her politics were a little too mild for Alva’s tastes.

“Good afternoon,” First Enchanter Octavia called, her voice ringing out across the hall without the need for magical amplification. “Settle down now, settle down. We have much to get through today.”

Alva leaned forward in her seat, an eager smile spreading across her face.

“Honestly,” Terese scoffed. “You’re like a maid at Springfest.”

“I care about our future,” Alva said. “As we all should.”

The elf snorted indecorously. “So do I! But sitting in a stuffy meeting all day isn’t exactly my idea of fun, necessary as it might be.”

Alva shook her head, then turned back towards the central stage.

“Thank you all for being here,” the First Enchanter continued. “As you know, those who are elected today will be instrumental in shaping our Circle’s future. The turnout was unprecedented, and I thank you all for your commitment to our great institution. The votes have been counted, and ratified by our Senior Enchanters. We will proceed without further ado. Stefano, if you would?”

The First Enchanter took a seat, ceding the floor to one of her council members. The old man stood up and, wheezing slightly, began to read from a scroll of fine vellum.

“Firstly, I would like to thank Senior Enchanter Tomas for his fine work over the years. I wish him all the best in his retirement, and hope that his replacement continues his legacy.”

There was some scattered applause across the room. Tomas had not been the most popular member of the council, and many were pleased to see him go.

“The votes have been tallied thus,” Stefano continued. “Allaria, twenty-seven votes. Gilles, one hundred and two votes. Hugo, one hundred and thirty-six votes. Tiber, with two hundred votes even, is promoted to Senior Enchanter. Congratulations, Tiber.”

A middle-aged human with a greying beard made his way down the hall steps towards the stage, where he shook the hands of the council and the First Enchanter. The room exploded into applause around him, Alva clapping harder than anyone else. Tiber was a staunch Loyalist, and his presence on the council was a good omen of things to come.

“This bodes well,” Alva whispered.

“Wait and see,” Terese said. “The tide has turned before.”

There followed a lengthy ceremony as Tiber took his vows and was presented with the robes of his new office. After this more results were announced for the roles of Junior Enchanters, and one by one they took to the stage to accept their new positions.

Tiber’s election seemed to have set the tone for the day after all. More Loyalists were called up to the stage than Alva had anticipated, though not so many as she had hoped. After a while even she began to lose interest in the proceedings, and was barely paying attention when they began to announce the new Enchanters.

Her attention was brought sharply back to the stage when Stefano spoke her name.

“Alva, with one hundred and seven votes, is promoted to Enchanter.”

Alva froze. She was certain she had misheard. Half of the mages in the room swivelled around in their seats to look at her. Several people clapped, but the applause that had followed the previous elections was not forthcoming.

“Alva,” Stefano repeated. “Come down to the stage, if you please.”

“This can’t be right.” Alva turned to Terese. “I wasn’t nominated.”

“Yes you were,” Terese flashed a grin. “I nominated you. You’ve been here fifteen years, Alva. It’s past time you made Enchanter. Go on now, get down there.”

Slowly, Alva stood and walked down the steps to the front of the room. It was all she could do to keep from fainting. As she passed many people broke out into whispers, not bothering to hide their shock. She was a tolerated curiosity in the Circle, nothing more. No one, least of all Alva herself, had ever expected she would be promoted to Enchanter.  _ Not no one, exactly, _ she thought.  _ One hundred and seven people. Whoever they were. _

She climbed onto the stage, and was desperately aware of her clammy palms as she shook the First Enchanter’s hand. There was more applause this time, although it sounded stilted to Alva’s ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Octavia asked quietly. “You’ve gone terribly pale.”

“I’m fine,” Alva lied. “This was just… unexpected. That’s all.”

The First Enchanter smiled up at her. “It certainly was. But I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully.”

Looking up at the sea of stunned faces in the Great Hall, Alva hoped beyond hope that she was right.


	3. Left Hand

It was strange, Peran thought, how even now the Inquisition’s legacy was shaping the world in a hundred little ways. Even in Denerim’s market square one could see more goods from Orlais than had been available even a few months before. The disbanding of the Inquisition had paved way for alliances between the two nations, uneasy now that no neutral force sat upon their border.

There was finely tooled metalwork from the artisans of Val Royeaux, and wine from the rich vineyards outside Jader. Cleverly dyed tapestries were available in the more ostentatious shops, and the better grocers were now heaving with potted meats and pale cheeses. The Ferelden capital was becoming positively cosmopolitan.

Peran and Sera had not come to the market for such luxurious goods as these, however. They had bought only the food they needed, along with a few oddities that Dagna had requested for her latest project. While Peran had accumulated a substantial fortune during his time with the Inquisition he found that he had little need of it. Save for the occasional dip into the coffers, to fund a long trip or a hefty bribe, they mostly made do on what little coin they made in the course of their work with the Jennies.

Once they had picked up everything they needed, the two of them walked back across the square towards their apartment. They passed the Chantry on the way, with the omnipresent Chanter standing outside its gates.

“-they may not seek the higher ground, for there they will be exposed to all across the plain. Better for a wise man to wait for nightfall, if he truly feels the elevation will be advantageous to him-”

Peran stopped in his tracks as he caught a snatch of the Chanter’s words. He frowned to himself.

“What’s up?” Sera said. “Forget something again?”

“No,” Peran shook his head. “What the Chanter’s saying. It’s not the Chant of Light.”

“What do you mean it’s not the Chant of Light? Of course it’s the Chant of Light. What else is a Chanter gonna say?”

“You don’t grow up in my family without knowing the Chant of Light. Trust me. That isn’t it,” Peran said, concentrating on the words.

The woman outside the Chantry spoke in the same calm tone that all Chanters did. Nothing in her voice suggested she was doing anything but her holy duty. “It is the folly of every novice to believe that strength lies only in numbers,” she said. “Indeed, one man well-trained may do what a score of less experienced soldiers may not.”

Realisation suddenly dawned on Peran. “I know what this is,” he said. “It’s from Thoreau’s  _ Martial Gambit _ . Third volume, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sera looked unimpressed. “And?”

“And I spent an entire summer at Skyhold working through those monographs.” He spoke slowly, turning over the situation in his mind. Suddenly it made a strange sort of sense to him.

Strolling over to the Chanter as casually as he was able, he caught the woman’s eye. Her gaze met his for a fraction of a second, and she nodded almost imperceptibly towards the Chanter’s Board beside her. After this she resumed speaking again, this time reciting a perfectly correct verse from the Canticle of Trials.

Peran inspected the board carefully until he found what he was looking for. There, pinned to the wood, was an unassuming scrap of paper. It read:

_ Lost Cat _

_ Answers to Jenny _

_ If found, return to the Gnawed Noble _

“Right,” Peran sighed. “I suppose writing a letter would be too simple.”

“What’s going on?” Sera said, wandering over to him. “This fish is gonna go rotten if we don’t get it in soon. Not having the house smell like dead things.”

“I’m afraid we might need to take a detour.” Peran tore the paper down and placed it carefully into his pocket. “Hopefully this won’t take long.”

The Gnawed Noble tavern was quiet at that time of day, populated only by a scattering of monied folk drinking through their hangovers. The proprietor looked up from the glass he was polishing as Peran and Sera walked in. He took one look at Peran’s missing arm and nodded a greeting, then put down his glass and walked out from behind the bar.

They followed him through the tavern to a suite at the back of the building. The heavyset man left them by the door, making a small bow to them before he walked away.

“You know this could be a trap, right?” Sera said. “We’ve not got any weapons? Maybe not a good idea to go in through the front door?”

“If this is what I think it is, we’ll be fine,” Peran said. “If worst comes to worst, throw the fish at them.”

He opened the door.

Peran was not surprised to see Leliana sitting at the parlour table. The ruse that had brought him here was as playful as it was unnecessary, and utterly typical of his former spymaster.

“You made it,” Leliana smiled up at them. “Come. Take a seat.”

Sera followed Peran into the room, and the two of them sat down across the table from Leliana. She poured them both a cup of tea from a steaming pot, then sat back in her chair. She was dressed simply but practically, in well-tailored leathers studded with silverite.

“Don’t you think that was a little much?” Peran asked.

“On the contrary,” Leliana replied. “I think it was just enough. I suspect you would have been disappointed in me if I simply knocked on your door. It is a sweet little place, by the way. Even if the street does smell of rotting leather.”

Sera gave a strangled laugh. “Wow. Still creepy.”

“I missed you too,” Leliana chuckled. “I missed both of you. It has been too long.”

“It has,” Peran agreed. “But I expect you didn’t lure us here for a social call.”

Leliana shook her head, red hair brushing across her cheeks. “You never were one for pleasantries, were you? Very well. As you may have guessed already, I have a job for you.”

“We have a job,” Sera pointed out. “We have a lot of jobs.”

“This one is more important.” Leliana’s face went suddenly grave. “I assume the both of you know who Anders is.”

“Anders?” Peran frowned. “The mage who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall?”

Leliana nodded. “The very same. His actions were the catalyst for the mage rebellions, and ultimately the war that followed.” She looked down at the tabletop as she spoke, her expression pensive. “For some time now Divine Victoria has sought to find him and bring him to justice.”

“Good,” Sera said, with more savagery than Peran had heard from her in a long while. “He deserves it. All those people dead, and for what? So more people could die in a sodding war?”

“It suppose it makes sense that Cassandra would want him captured,” Peran agreed.

“It would cement her authority greatly,” Leliana said. “Not to mention gain her a great deal of respect among those who lost people in the conflict.”

“So… you want us to find him?” Sera asked. “I’m in. Peran, you in?”

Leliana held out a hand to stop her. “I’m afraid it is not that simple,” she said. “When was the last time you heard from Warden Rainier?”

“Blackwall?” Peran asked, puzzled. “He’s written once or twice since joining the order, but that’s it. What does he have to do with all this?”

Leliana heaved a sigh, then pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. She began to pace as she spoke. “Blackwall - Rainier - was recently stationed in Orzammar, with Warden-Commander Tabris.”

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Sera’s eyes went wide. “Now  _ that’s _ a big friggin’ hero.”

Peran smiled at her. “I’m surprised you hold the world’s most famous elf in such high regard.”

Sera did not return his smile. “I was  _ in  _ Ferelden when the Blight broke out,” she said, stabbing her finger against the tabletop. “Anyone who stops that mess? Big friggin’ hero. Don’t care who you are.”

“Fair enough.”

“If I may?” Leliana interrupted gently. “As you are aware, I know the Hero of Ferelden personally. We travelled together during the Blight. But after it was over she… changed.” She stopped pacing, and stared out of the parlour window. The stained glass cast splashes of colour across her face. “I was not there to see it, but I have heard enough stories. A year after she was made Warden-Commander she went to Orzammar, and attempted to take the order’s whole Ferelden chapter with her. She claimed that they needed to be closer to their enemy.”

Sera shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“I’ve heard nothing of this,” Peran said. “Did Weisshaupt allow it?”

“Yes and no. They could not allow half the Wardens in southern Thedas to disappear underground, but nor could they be seen to oppose the greatest living hero of the Fifth Blight. Instead they struck a compromise. Lorelei was made Warden-Commander of Orzammar, and gained stewardship over those Wardens who were close to their Calling. Of course, the Wardens wish to keep all of this as quiet as possible. It would not do to have it known that their most famous member had all but gone rogue.”

“Right,” Sera said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Big secrets. Good story. Why should we care?”

“Because Warden-Commander Tabris is seeking Anders too,” Leliana said. “Rainier and I keep in contact. He lets me know what is happening within the Warden ranks. His last message mentioned that there were rumours that Anders had been seen in the Free Marches, and that Lorelei was sending Wardens to the surface to search for him. Rainier was as troubled by this news as I. He does not believe her actions have been sanctioned by Weisshaupt.”

“Anders was a Warden before he fled to Kirkwall,” Peran said, recalling a scrap of history.

Leliana nodded. “He served with Lorelei when she was stationed at Vigil’s Keep. As far as she is concerned, he is a deserter and under her jurisdiction.”

“I don’t get this,” Sera said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Do you want this bloke brought to Cassandra or the Hero of Ferelden? Which is it?”

“I would have Anders given over to the Chantry, if possible,” Leliana said. “He killed Grand Cleric Elthina, among many others. That retribution must be theirs to take.”

“So you’re here on behalf of the Divine?” Peran asked.

“Not exactly.” Leliana stopped pacing and sank back into her chair. She looked exhausted all of a sudden, her usual composure fractured. “Cassandra wants a show of force. She would have Anders marched back to Val Royeaux for all to see, publically hanged as a heretic and a murderer. Such a display would likely reignite tensions between the mages and Templars. I will not let that happen so soon after we brokered peace.”

Peran considered this for a moment. “Alright. What would you do instead?”

Leliana sat up straight again. “If Anders can be brought to the Grand Cathedral quietly, I may be able to talk the Divine into a less antagonistic course of action. Only then may we avoid reopening old wounds.”

“The Wardens come into this how?” Sera prompted.

“If Lorelei’s agents find Anders first, things will not go well,” Leliana said. “If Cassandra discovers that the Wardens have a Chantry prisoner in custody she will not hesitate to move against them, and the Wardens would struggle to survive another conflict so soon after Adamant. I know better than most how necessary the order is.” She sighed, resting her head against the back of her chair. “I would also not see two old friends go to war with one another.”

Sera rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “Could have said that to start with.”

“So, let me see if I understand this,” Peran said. “You want us to hunt down Thedas’s most wanted heretic - a man who has been at large for nearly ten years - and bring him, alive and in secret, back to Val Royeaux. Also, you want us to do this faster than both the Templars and the Grey Wardens.”

Leliana considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

“We’ll do it,” Sera said at once. When Peran opened his mouth to protest she shot him an incredulous look. “What? We are gonna do this, right? Don’t tell me you’re not bored here.”

“It’s not a matter of boredom,” Peran said.

“Well then make something else the matter,” Sera replied. “He killed people.  _ Lots _ of people. Wasn’t right. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Sort out people like him?”

Peran knew it wasn’t worth arguing with her. “I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t be the first time we attempted the impossible.”

“Thank you.” Leliana inclined her head in gratitude. “Warden Rainier will be able to explain more. Shall I send a bird to Vigil’s Keep to tell him you are coming?”

Sera looked expectantly at Peran, her eyes daring him to say no. He sighed, and shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Leliana let out a small sigh of relief, while Sera whooped her approval and punched Peran happily on the shoulder. A small part of him was enjoying this. He had not realised how much he had missed having a challenge, a reason to go out into the world and put something right.

“Now that business is taken care of,” Leliana said. “I think we have some catching up to do. How is our favourite arcanist, Sera?”

They spent the whole afternoon in the airy parlour, drinking tea and talking. Leliana brought news from Orlais, and Sera in return told her in incomprehensible detail about the progress of the Red Jennies. Peran himself spoke little, simply content to listen and ponder on the task that lay before them.

It was only when he was halfway back to his apartment, the evening sky darkening to purple above him, that he realised something; he no longer had the might of the Inquisition behind him, or its resources. He had no troops, no supply network, no spies. He did not even have his left hand any longer. The task he had agreed to - this impossible, ridiculous task - would have to be completed without any of his former assets.

“Hey. What’s up?” Sera asked, nudging him in the ribs as they walked.

Peran shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m fine.”

His own words were not reassuring.


	4. Correspondence I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bonus chapter between updates because this one is a bit shorter
> 
> (Guin belongs to tumblr user @brewess!)

_To: Peran Trevelyan  
_ _Denerim_

_From: Guinevere Trevelyan_   
_The College of Enchanters_   
_Skyhold  
Ferelden/Orlais Border_

 

Peran,

I have to confess, your letter came as something of a surprise. Here I was expecting your usual three pages of grumbling, and instead you tell me that you’re going off to apprehend a dangerous criminal. Quite a jarring change of pace for you.

Unfortunately I cannot accompany you as you asked. My business with the College is taking up too much of my time, and it would be something of a conflict of interests besides. Fiona has herself taken an interest in this Anders, although between you and me I believe it would be better for us all if he were given over to the Chantry. The College’s position is tenuous enough without harbouring the most wanted mage on the continent.

I am, however, reluctant to let you undertake such a dangerous mission without a healer. My colleague Tanith has agreed to accompany you on your quest. All being well, she should arrive at the Arl’s Arms tavern in three days’ time. I would trust her with my own life, so you should feel more than comfortable trusting her with yours.

Do be careful, brother - this is a volatile situation in more ways than one. I would hate for you to get tied up in something too dangerous so soon after you’ve had a little peace.

Give my love to Sera and Dagna, and please take care of yourself.

Your sister,

Guin

P.S. Krem and the rest of the Chargers came to stay recently. They send their regards, and want to know when you want to go dragon hunting again.

 

_To: Divine Victoria  
_ _Grand Cathedral, Val Royeaux_

_Unsigned_

 

Most Holy,

I passed your wishes along to our friends, as you requested. They were happy to accept your invitation, and will be leaving for the hunt soon. While I would have enjoyed a little sport, I believe I am needed more back in Val Royeaux.

As for the other matter we discussed, I share your concerns. It is dangerous to leave such a thing lying around. I believe your course of action to be wise; it may take a little Iron to fix.

Until we meet again,

L.

 

_To: Lady Callista_   
_Val Firmin_

_From: Albert Stanchion, Esq._   
_Stanchion’s Outfitters and Habadashery_   
_Lydes_

 

My Lady,

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your delivery will be somewhat delayed.

A caravan travelling the Imperial Highway was attacked by bandits last week, and your shipment was among those goods lost or destroyed. Apparently the Dales are rife with these miscreants nowadays; I assure you I will personally pay for the guard to be doubled when I send out your replacement goods.

I humbly beg your forgiveness in this matter.

A. Stanchion


	5. Tanith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanith's dialogue immediately becomes about a thousand times better if you read it in a very strong Welsh accent

The Arl’s Arms was a small tavern, neither ostentatious nor overly rough. Its location near the city gate made it popular with travelers and visiting merchants. Few of the customers were Denerim locals. The place was clean and well-kept, the furniture lacking the telltale signs of age. It was one of the many buildings that had required extensive repair after the last Blight.

Peran and Sera had been waiting in the taproom for most of the day. That morning they had packed their bags for a long journey, and Peran had gone off to secure horses while Sera and Dagna made their protracted goodbyes. The arcanist would be remain in Denerim while they were in the Free Marches, watching the house and tinkering with her latest project. Peran quietly hoped that she would not manage to burn the place down before their return.

“I’m so bored,” Sera said, burying her head in her hands. “We’ve been waiting for  _ hours _ . Can’t we just go already?”

Peran sighed. “It hasn’t been that long. Guin said the healer would be here today, but she didn’t specify what time. I suggest you get comfortable.”

“Why do we need a mage, anyway? We’ve done fine without so far.”

“It might be that we need a mage to catch a mage,” Peran said. “Besides. My sister insisted. She’s rarely wrong.”

Sera made a small noise of agreement. “True. Shall I get us some more drinks?”

“I think I’ll be alright for now. I don’t want to fall off my horse tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Sera stalked off to the bar and returned a moment later with a fresh mug of ale.

The morning slipped by. Peran ordered lunch, and the two of them talked of unimportant things while they ate. Peran would have liked to use this opportunity to discuss their plan for tracking down Anders; however Leliana had been clear that they needed to be as circumspect as possible. Discussing strategy in the middle of a crowded bar was hardly subtle.

A serving girl was just clearing their plates away when a woman entered the tavern. She was cloaked and hooded, and carried what, to the untrained eye, could have been mistaken for a walking staff. Peran had known too many mages to make that error, however.

“If I don’t miss my guess,” he said. “I think that’s our healer.” He raised his arm to get her attention.

The woman was glancing about the room when Peran waved to her, and she quickly caught sight of him. Weaving neatly past the crowded tables, she made her way across the room to where he and Sera sat.

The woman pulled down her hood as she approached, revealing a mass of tightly-curling hair and a pair of slender, pointed ears. Her face was tattooed, and the freckles that spattered her warm brown skin made the delicate designs look like trees in autumn.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, propping her staff against the table and pulling up a chair. “Roads are terrible round here. I’m Tanith. But you knew that already, I suppose. Pleased to meet you both.”

“Ugh.” Sera rolled her eyes. “She’s all  _ elfy _ .”

Peran winced at Sera’s words, but Tanith seemed more amused than offended.

“Oh dear,” the mage said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a terrible shock next time you look in a mirror.”

“I’m sorry,” Peran said quickly. “We just weren’t expecting you to be so…”

“Dalish?” Tanith grinned. “Well I’m not, technically. Not any more. Let me get a drink and I’ll tell you all about it. Don’t worry, I know you’re dying to ask.”

Tanith got up and made her way towards the bar, stepping lightly through the crowd.

“She’s  _ elfy _ ,” Sera repeated once the mage was out of earshot. “Guin could’ve warned us about that.”

“I’m sure she’s not that bad,” Peran said. “Try not to offend her before we’ve even left Denerim.”

Sera folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. But if she starts talking about ‘the glory days’ she can piss off back to Skyhold.”

A moment later Tanith returned with a fresh pitcher of beer, and poured for all three of them before returning to her seat.

“So. Where was I?” she said.

“You were explaining why you were no longer Dalish,” Peran said.

“Ah. Of course.” Tanith took a sip of her drink. “Creators, but that’s lovely. You  _ shemlen _ don’t half know how to brew. Anyway, so. Our clan wasn’t as isolated as some are, as these things go. We traded with humans, we learned their news. So when the mages rebelled, I heard all about it. At the time we were passing through Orlais, only a few miles from the White Spire.”

Peran nodded. “Where it all began.”

“Quite right. I was our clan’s First, at the time. In training to be Keeper. All my life I’d been taught that magic was a gift. A blessing. And here were thousands with that gift, mistreated for so long that they’d started a war just to be free.” Tanith leaned across the table, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “See,  _ I  _ thought that ‘the oppressed rising up against their oppressors’ would be a familiar narrative to the Dalish. Seemed to me that perhaps it was something we should be taking an interest in.”

“Let me guess,” Sera said. “Your people said it wasn’t worth bothering with, because the mages weren’t special elves who lived in the woods.”

Tanith tipped her head to one side, considering. “Now that you mention it, that is basically what happened. The  _ hahren _ told me I was to stay with the clan. I refused, we argued, and I left.”

“So you gave up your position?” Peran asked.

“Not just my position. It was made clear to me that if I joined the rebel mages then my place in the clan was forfeit. It was all a bit over the top, really,” she smiled. “Contrary to popular opinion, not every Dalish thinks that cutting off from the world is going to change it. Just most of them.”

“And that’s where you met my sister?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Lovely girl, Guin. You don’t look a bit like her, you know. Maybe a little round the eyes.”

“I’m sure she thanks the Maker for that every day.” Peran rubbed at his chin self-consciously. It was true; he was broad where Guin was willowy, and while it could be argued that he possessed a certain rough appeal he had none of his sister’s grace. They shared the Trevelyan colouring, but that was all.

“Can we go now?” Sera said, rapping her knuckles on the table. “That mage-tit isn’t going to hunt himself, is he?”

Tanith nodded gravely. “Quite right. Even the clans heard about what he did in Kirkwall,” she said. “Terrible business. I’m ready to go when you are. Just say the word.”

Peran glanced out of the window. The sun was still high; it could not be long past noon. “If we leave now we could cover a fair amount of ground by nightfall. We’ll make it to the Keep by tomorrow evening if we make good time.”

“Well-” Sera stood, drained her tankard, and hefted her travelsack onto her shoulder. “Let’s go save the world again, yeah?”


	6. Chevaliers

Romy took a bite of the truffle, and smiled as it split and spilled cherry liquor across her tongue. The haul from the last caravan had been a good one. The warm clothes, blankets and travel rations were what they really needed, but the little delicacies didn’t hurt.

Life on the road was strange like that. They could go for weeks in total privation, getting sick off foraged berries and shivering themselves to sleep at night, but one good day could leave them living like kings. Some of the free elves now wore silks and jewels that would not look out of place on a human lord, even as they ate trail bread around the campfire.

Romy had never tasted chocolate before she left the city. Sometimes it was that, more than anything else, that made her stay.

She finished the truffles and licked her fingers clean before returning to work. Some of her armour had taken a beating when that last guard had come at her, and she needed to work a few dents out of the metal. It was fine stuff; finer than someone like her should have ever been able to afford. Silverite and dragonbone. Gold inlays on the breastplate.

But the finest piece of all was her helmet, with its plume of yellow feathers. Romy had built herself around that helmet. It had elevated her from a rebel to a symbol.

It was an accident, the first time she killed a chevalier.

He was half dead already when he stumbled into her path, bludgeoned senseless by the rocks flung from the rooftops above. Romy had barely thought before she stepped forward and plunged her knife into the soft flesh above his gorget. People had cheered for her that night. Cheered even as Halamshiral burned around them.

She had killed two more chevaliers since then. Neither of those had been accidents.

A noise outside Romy’s tent put her on alert. She drew her sword from the scabbard that lay beside her bedroll, moving into the best defensive stance she could manage in the cramped space.

“Romy?”

Romy relaxed at the familiar voice. Sheathing her sword, she stepped forward and pulled back the flap of the tent.

Briala looked tired. The cloak she wore was soaked with rain, and it hung heavily from her shoulders. She discarded it as she stepped inside, rubbing at her arms to warm up.

“I’m glad you are still awake,” Briala said. “It took me a long time to find your camp.”

“That’s good,” Romy said, sitting down on her bedroll. “If you struggled to find it with directions then the shems don’t have a chance.”

Briala gave a small smile. “I wouldn’t count on that. We can’t afford to grow complacent.”

“I know. How was your trip?”

“Fruitless. The elves at Montsimmard are more scared than angry.”

“Then they are fools.” Romy rubbed at her close-cropped hair.

“Come now,” Briala said, sitting down next to her. “Were you never scared in Halamshiral?”

“Of course. But living my whole life in the slums, creeping around in fear like a mouse? That scares me more than any soldier with a blade.”

That response seemed to please Briala. She took Romy’s hand in hers and lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “That,” she said. “Is why you are my general. My  _ chevalier _ .”

Romy moved her hand to cup Briala’s cheek. She moved into the touch, her skin cold from the rain.

“How long will you be staying this time?” Romy asked.

“Not long. There have been rumours of unrest in Val Firmin. I should try and be there before it boils over.” Briala sighed, shifting to rest her head against Romy’s shoulder. “Maker, but all this was easier when we had the eluvians.”

“I can only imagine.”

Romy and her band of free elves had not been part of Briala’s network when the rebellions had first broken out. They had been fewer then, less organised. Any knowledge of a wider effort at liberation had passed them by while they eked out a living from banditry and poaching.

It wasn’t until the Breach appeared that things began to change. Their forces were bolstered as more elves fled the cities for the south, taking advantage of the chaos. Some of them told stories of a secret elven militia, working to bring about a new world for their people.

Romy had not believed their tales until Briala arrived at her camp. She had been recruited to the cause that night, and had been working for the former ambassador ever since. Romy had kept their forces active even after Briala’s exile, as short-lived as that had turned out to be.

“I can stay tonight, though,” Briala said. Her breath was warm against Romy’s throat.

Rain pattered on the canvas outside. Her armour could wait.

Romy drew Briala close to kiss her, fingers catching in her tangle of damp hair as she felt for the buttons of her shirt. They had been apart for too long. Practicality kept them from becoming more than bed partners, but still Romy had missed the supple curve of Briala’s waist, the way she shivered and keened beneath her touches.

She knew that Briala had been the Empress’s lover, once. That thought bothered her at times, but more often than not Romy smiled when she thought of Celene. The woman who had orchestrated her people’s destruction was alone now, while Briala fought alongside her instead, and at night lay warm in the circle of her arms.


	7. Vigil's Keep

Evening was falling when Peran and his companions reached Vigil’s Keep. The ancient fortress sprawled out across the mountainside, its battlements towering above the dirt road that led to its gates. As they approached, Peran - still a soldier at heart - could not help but take note of the fortifications, the patrol patterns and the positions of the watchtowers. He found himself mostly satisfied. The Grey Wardens, scattered as they were now, seemed to be running the place well.

Peran had written ahead to tell Rainier of their arrival, and the Wardens seemed to be expecting them. The portcullis was up, and a small contingent was waiting to greet their party when they entered the courtyard. The man who stepped forward when Peran dismounted was well-armoured, but did not wear the griffin sigil as the others did.

“Lord Trevelyan,” he said, shaking Peran’s hand. “Varel. I’m Seneschal here at the Keep. I trust your journey was not too unpleasant?”

“Not at all,” Peran said. “The coast is quite lovely this time of year. Reminds me of Ostwick.”

“My people will take care of your horses,” Varel said. “Warden Rainier is waiting for you inside.” He took one small step towards Peran, just enough that he could speak and not be overheard. “Only he and I know the circumstances surrounding your visit. Your discretion would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” Peran nodded. “I understand this is something of a delicate matter for the Wardens.”

“Aye. I do not belong to the order myself, though I serve them. Warden-Commander Tabris is a…” Varel paused as he searched for the word. “Divisive figure. I understand Rainier’s desire to deal with this situation quietly.”

“Who’s this?” Sera strolled up to them, with Tanith following a few paces behind her. “Doesn’t look like a Warden.”

Varel introduced himself to the two women, then invited their group up into the Keep. They had missed supper, her said, but he would be happy to have something brought up to them.

The interior of the Keep was sparse and practical, though the odd tapestry or oil painting betrayed the building’s history as a noble house. The Wardens they saw around the place were mostly out of their armour, drinking in groups or playing cards. It seemed to Peran much the same as any other barracks, though the soldiers were more diverse. Dwarves, elves and humans mixed in the same circles, and several mages walked around openly bearing their staffs. In many ways Vigil’s Keep reminded him of Skyhold when it had still been home to the Inquisition.

The Seneschal led them into a side passage, then stopped at the bottom of a set of stairs. Peran guessed that these led up into one of the building’s many narrow turrets.

“I’m afraid I must leave you here,” Varel said. “I have other matters I must attend to, and my absence will be noted if I stay much longer. Have a servant fetch one of the stewards once you’re ready to be shown to your rooms. Is there anything else you need?”

Peran shook his head. “That will be fine. Thank you.”

Varel made a short bow, then walked back towards the main hall.

“That man needs a very large drink and a very long nap,” Tanith observed as he turned a corner.

“Too right,” Sera said.

To Peran’s surprise and relief, the two of them had not come to blows during the journey from Denerim. Sera, despite her obvious distrust, had refrained from insulting Tanith directly. Tanith clearly did not understand Sera’s dislike of her but, to her credit, had not pressed the issue. Peran hoped that their uneasy truce held until their task was complete.

The three of them climbed the narrow staircase to the turret room. The spiral steps seemed to go on forever, and Peran found himself winded by the time he reached the door. He knocked, leaning against the frame slightly as he caught his breath.

“Come in.” Rainier’s voice was unmistakable, though muffled by the layer of heavy oak.

Peran lifted the heavy latch and pushed his way inside. The room was modest, little more than a desk and a small hearth with a few chairs around it. Rainier had been sitting in one of these, but got to his feet once he saw who had arrived.

“Maker’s breath,” he said, moving forward to clap Peran warmly on the shoulder. “I barely recognised you at first. You’re looking well.”

“So are you,” Peran said. It was the truth. Rainier had worn the Grey Warden armour during his time masquerading as Blackwall, but now he seemed to inhabit it. He held himself straighter, wearing the colours with pride, and although he was showing a little more grey at the temples there was a vitality about him that he had not possessed a year ago.

“Alright, beardy?” Sera said, pushing past Peran to pull their friend into a rough hug.

He returned her embrace, chuckling. “Sera! I’d hoped you might come along. Did you bring Dagna with you?”

“No.” Sera stepped back, pouting a little. “Widdle’s back in Denerim.”

“I have to admit, I’m relieved. If she had met Dworkin…” Rainier trailed off, shaking his head. “I’d rather not think about that.”

Remembering his manners, Peran stepped aside and gestured to Tanith, who had kept a respectful distance while the old friends exchanged greetings. “Blackwa-” he stopped, then corrected himself. “ _ Thom _ \- this is Tanith, one of my sister’s colleagues. She’ll be accompanying us while we look for Anders.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Tanith said, shaking his hand.

He inclined his head slightly to her. “Aneth ara.”

“Well!” Tanith smiled, looking impressed. “I never thought I’d hear someone with a beard like that speaking the old tongue.”

“I’m afraid that’s all I know,” Rainier said. “One of the lads who went through the Joining with me was from the Dalish. He taught me the greeting.”

“Must have liked you,” Tanith said. “That’s the one you use with friends. Did he survive it? The Joining?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

“Oh. Good. I was preparing myself for a consolation, there.”

There was a knock at the door, and a serving man entered with a laden tray of food. He placed it down on a low table by the fire and left quietly. The four of them moved to the hearth to eat, Sera sitting down on the flagstones as there were only three chairs. The food was good; warm bread and baked fish, with a salty vegetable that Peran suspected was some kind of seaweed. As they ate Peran and Sera filled Rainier in on what they had been doing since they last spoke, and their friend chuckled approvingly when he heard of their exploits.

“I’m glad you’re still making life hard for the nobles,” he said. “Someone needs to.”

“And what of you?” Peran asked. “We’ve barely heard from you since you joined the Wardens.”

“Ah.” Rainier’s face grew suddenly grave. “I suppose I should fill you in on the details. That is why you’re here, after all.”

Sera shuffled closer to listen as Rainier topped up each of their glasses from a bottle of dark wine.

“You already know the basics,” he said. “Took my Joining about half a year ago. Was serving in Orlais for a while. That’s when I got a message from Weisshaupt.”

“Weisshaupt?” Peran was surprised. The home of the Grey Warden command was notoriously isolated, even from its own order. It seemed unlikely that they would take an interest in a new recruit.

Rainier nodded, then looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I was honest when I joined,” he said. “About everything. Calliers, Blackwall, all of it. Didn’t want to start out a new life with more lies.”

Sera nodded her approval. “Brave, that.”

“They weren’t exactly happy about it, of course,” he continued. “But it seems that there were some who were impressed I’d managed to pass myself off as a Warden for so long. Eventually word got to Weisshaupt, and they decided to make use of me. So they sent me to Orzammar.”

“You’re a spy?” Peran said, incredulous.

Rainier grimaced. “Ironic, isn’t it? You try and move on from a life of deception and suddenly people decide it’s what you’re best at. But I had my orders, and I wasn’t about to ignore a direct command from the First Warden.”

“What did they want you to do down there?” Tanith asked.

“Not much,” he said. “Watch. Listen. Send the odd report back to Weisshaupt. Apparently they’ve had a man in Orzammar since Commander Tabris set up shop down there. My predecessor met an unhappy end, though I never the details.”

“You think she found out he was a spy?” Sera said.

“I doubt it.” Rainer picked up his wine glass and took a long drink. “He perished in the Deep Roads. Not uncommon. Tabris leads raids on the old thaigs constantly. Went on one or two myself.”

Peran raised his eyebrows. “She leads them herself? All of them?”

“Look,” Rainier sighed. “There’s no polite way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Warden-Commander Tabris is crazy. I don’t know if it’s down to the things she saw during the Blight, or if she’s just been underground too long, but that woman is cracked. Under the right circumstances, she could be dangerous.”

Sera frowned. “Cracked how? They wouldn’t let her do it if she was  _ that _ bonkers, right?”

“She works with Wardens near their Calling, mostly,” Rainier said. “They’re ready to put themselves in harm’s way. It’s what they go down there for. Weisshaupt can’t rightly discipline her for endangering them, or for endangering herself.” He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “The Legion of the Dead allowed her to take her funeral rites with them years ago. Do you know what that means to the dwarves?”

Tanith nodded gravely. “She’s a dead woman. A walking corpse.”

“There’s more than a few in Orzammar who think it in poor taste,” Rainier said. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Where does Anders fit into all this?” Peran asked, trying to steer the conversation back towards the task in hand.

“From what I’ve been told, Anders has been a thorn in the Warden-Commander’s side for some time,” he said. “He defects from the order, then goes off and blows up a Chantry to promote his own agenda. Tabris conscripted the man herself, so she took it personally.  _ Very _ personally.”

“Don’t blame her,” Sera said, tracing the edges of the hearthstones with her forefinger. “I would.”

Rainier nodded. “True enough. It was a harmless grudge, when she wasn’t doing anything about it. Now he’s been sighted she’s taking action. She’s started sending her people up to the surface to hunt him down. That won’t end well for anyone.”

“And you haven’t reported this to the order.” Peran did not quite phrase it as a question.

“No,” Rainier said firmly. “I didn’t. Weisshaupt barely tolerate her as it is. If they oust her it would be civil war within the ranks. There are plenty still loyal to her, and I didn’t join the order just to throw it into chaos.”

“So you asked for us,” Peran said.

Rainier’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Not directly. It felt like a job for the Inquisition - what’s left of it, anyway - and I suspected our friend would go to you first.”

“So what do we know?” Peran asked. “Do we know where Anders was seen, or when?”

“In the Free Marches, about two months ago,” Rainier said. “That’s all we have to go on, unfortunately. But it’s all Tabris knows too. She’s got a head start, but we have contacts in the Free Marches. I was hoping your family might be of some use.”

“Absolutely not,” Peran said quickly. “I’d rather fight another archdemon than call on them. Besides, they won’t be any help. Not unless my mother has an overwhelming desire to invite Anders to dinner and announce what a vast disappointment he is over the soup.”

“Alright,” Rainier said. “That’s one option gone.”

“There are many Dalish clans in Kirkwall,” Tanith suggested. “They hear news others do not, and they may speak to me openly.”

“Hello?” Sera clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Aren’t we overlooking the totally pissing obvious? Our friend in the Free Marches? The one who’s the big boss of a whole city?”

“The one whose closest friend is Anders’ paramour, you mean?” Peran said. “I don’t think he’ll be falling over himself to help us.”

“Sera has a point, you know,” Rainier said, scratching his beard. “He won’t be thrilled about it, but he might listen if we tell him what the alternative is.”

“Your mysterious ally does sound useful,” Tanith nodded.

Peran considered this for a moment and, realising they had few other leads, resigned himself to it. “I suppose that settles it, then,” he said. “How soon can we get passage to Kirkwall?”


	8. Iron

In the weeks since she had been made Enchanter Alva’s usually tidy desk had turned into a mess of books and papers. She had only been given one class to teach, but the work for that alone was running her ragged. The war had made people fearful - those with mage children were bringing them to the Circle early instead of attempting to hide their powers. As a result the class sizes were getting larger, and the depleted ranks of mages were struggling to keep up.

It didn’t help that she could barely get her students to listen to her. She had been saddled with the youngest group, and most of them spent their classes staring open-mouthed at their tall, horned teacher. Alva was sure someone had done it deliberately, to spite her. As grateful as she was for the opportunity, there were days when Alva wished that Terese had not nominated her for the position. She was used to pursuing her own research, quietly and at her own pace. Now she had to run around after a gaggle of children - difficult enough, she imagined, when the children were not capable of throwing fireballs.

Alva was ensconced at her desk one evening, planning her next week’s lecture, when there was a knock on her chamber door.

“Come in,” she called, putting down her pen and stretching her stiff fingers.

Alva was surprised when Sama entered the room. The Tranquil was the First Enchanter’s assistant, and rarely left her side. She walked across to Alva’s desk and handed her a neatly folded piece of parchment, inclining her head slightly.

“From First Enchanter Octavia,” she said. “I was told to tell you it was urgent.”

“Thank you, Sama,” she said, opening the note. “I’ll read it now.”

The missive was brief, requesting Alva’s presence in Octavia’s rooms ‘at her earliest convenience’. That, of course, meant immediately. Alva was surprised by the request. It was common Circle gossip that the First Enchanter was entertaining important guests from Orlais that week. She could not imagine why her presence would be desired.

“The First Enchanter would like me to call on her,” Alva said. “Would you be able to let me into her chambers?”

“Of course, Enchanter,” Sama said. “Please follow me.”

Alva let Sama lead the way through the Circle corridors. In truth, she was glad to have the Tranquil with her. She had never had occasion to visit the senior mages before, and was not entirely sure where Octavia’s rooms were located.

Eventually they came to an arching oak door on the building’s top floor. Sama opened it, gesturing for Alva to step inside.

The door led to a small vestibule, where the First Enchanter was pacing nervously. Her face brightened a little when she saw Alva, and she ushered her into the room.

“Enchanter Alva,” she said. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“It was no trouble,” Alva said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The First Enchanter’s face twisted oddly, as if she was not sure what emotion she wanted to express. “As you probably know,” she said slowly. “I have some guests staying at the moment. Ambassadors from the Orlesian Circles. One of them has requested a meeting with you.”

Alva’s eyebrows shot up. “With me?”

“Indeed. She asked for you by name.”

“I don’t know anyone in Orlais. Who would want to speak to me?”

Octavia sighed, and ran her fingers through her greying hair. “The Imperial Enchanter.”

Alva frowned. Every Circle mage knew of Madame de Fer. She was the most famous of their order in Thedas. The thought of her requesting an audience with a newly-elected Enchanter was laughable. “That can’t be right,” she said. “No, there must have been a mistake.”

“There has not. Madame Vivienne does not make mistakes. Please, Alva, come with me. I will introduce you.”

Alva did not move. Suddenly she was aware of her plain work robes, her hair in a loose braid down her back. She had not even stopped to wrap her horns before leaving her room. “First Enchanter, I-”

“You will come with me,” Octavia said firmly. “Our guest should not be kept waiting.”

There was no arguing with that. Heart beating hard in her chest, Alva followed a few steps behind the First Enchanter as she led her onwards.

The First Enchanter’s solar was a large, high-ceilinged room, tastefully decorated in the classic Antivan style. The furniture was made of dark wood and cushioned with richly dyed silks, and the tapestries that hung from the walls were beautiful in their simplicity. One wall was dominated by a huge picture window that looked out across Rialto Bay, the colours of the evening sky reflecting in the water.

Sitting on the padded window seat, a flute of sparkling wine in her hand, was Madame de Fer. Empress Celene’s royal Enchanter, veteran of the Inquisition, and hero to every mage still loyal to the Circle.

She stood as Alva and the First Enchanter entered, rising to her feet and walking towards them with a fluid grace. Alva had seen etchings of her, but she was even more beautiful in the flesh. Her robes were in silver and samite, perfectly tailored for her, and the smile she gave the new Enchanter had genuine warmth in it.

“Enchanter Alva, I presume.” Madame de Fer placed down her glass and held a perfectly manicured hand out towards her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Alva shook her hand without thinking, then, unsure if she had made an error, turned the gesture into an awkward curtsey. “Likewise, Madame.”

“Vivienne, please,” she said. “You needn’t look so concerned, my dear. I was simply hoping for a few moments of conversation with you.”

Alva could do little but nod silently.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Vivienne said, turning her attention back to the First Enchanter. “You may leave us now.”

Octavia looked shocked. “Madame-”

“Thank you,” Vivienne repeated, smiling. Her expression was kind, but the simple phrase dripped with command.

“Of course,” the First Enchanter muttered. “Good evening.”

Alva watched, stunned, as the First Enchanter left the solar, closing the door behind her. She could not imagine the kind of power one would have to wield to dismiss the head of the entire Circle from her own rooms.

“Now then, dear,” Vivienne said. “Would you like anything? A drink?”

Alva moved to shake her head, then realised her mouth was desert-dry. “Please.”

Vivienne poured another glass of the sparkling wine and led them back towards the window seat. She sat down, crossing her legs elegantly at the knee. Alva joined her, horribly conscious of how scruffy she looked in comparison.

“I imagine you’re wondering why I invited you here, Enchanter,” Vivienne said.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting it,” Alva said, taking a sip from her glass. The wine was light and sweet, and fizzed pleasantly on her tongue.

Vivienne smiled. “I expect not. Truthfully, I have wanted to speak with you for quite some time now,” she said. “I read your thesis.”

Of all the reasons Alva imagined Vivienne might give, that was not one of them. Her thesis had been a paltry little thing, seen as terribly dry by most of the other Circle mages. It described a series of control exercises, barely touching upon magic at all. Alva could not imagine that there were more than half a hundred copies in circulation.

“You did, Madame?” Alva asked. “May I ask where you found it? It was hardly a popular project.”

“Copies of all the Circle theses pass through the Imperial Library at some point,” Vivienne said. “I make a point of reading them when I can. Tell me, dear - was your research ever trialled here? On a large scale, I mean, not the experiments you carried out yourself.”

“No,” Alva shook her head. “The war broke out not long after I finished it. Introducing new classes wasn’t a priority.”

“I see.” Vivienne’s expression was unreadable. “We have been using your methods in Montsimmard for the last year.”

Alva took a sharp breath. Perhaps this was why she had been called here. Her research hadn’t worked, or worse, had been dangerous. “Really?” she swallowed. “What happened?”

“The number of apprentices who failed their Harrowing dropped dramatically,” Vivienne said. “It was a resounding success. Your work saved lives, Enchanter. You should be tremendously proud.”

For a moment Alva simply sat, letting that information sink in. It was a long moment she realised that she had completely drained her glass. She felt light-headed, giddy with the wine and the revelation. Eventually she realised that she needed to say something. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is,” Vivienne nodded. “I confess, I made some enquiries about you before I came to Antiva. I understand you are working on some new research.”

“I am, Madame,” Alva said. “Or I was. I’ve been rather tied up since the elections.”

Vivienne laughed quietly as she refilled Alva’s glass. “I imagine so. My first year as an Enchanter was quite the same. Never a minute to myself.”

“It is challenging, at times. Not that I’m not honoured.”

For a fraction of a second Vivienne’s eyes flickered up to Alva’s horns. “I imagine so,” she said. “From what I could gather your new project is centred around magical artifacts. Is that correct?”

“It is,” Alva said. She brightened up a little at the opportunity to discuss her work - this was where she was most comfortable. “Specifically, it concerns the dispelling and binding of arcane energy within objects. It’s something of a companion to my earlier research, I suppose. That also dealt with magical suppression of a sort.”

“And it is going well?” Vivienne prompted.

“So far, yes,” Alva said. “The early experiments show promise. Before the election I was able to successfully cleanse an amulet that had been in our vault for some years. The First Enchanter thought the curse on it might have been centuries old.” Alva realised she was rambling and promptly silenced herself.

Vivienne had been nodding along as Alva spoke, her expression thoughtful. Now she set her glass down, folding her hands in her lap. “I suppose there is little point in prolonging this charade,” she said. “As you may have guessed by now, my dear, I did not come to Rialto to see Octavia. I came to see you.”

Alva did not know how to respond to that. “I can’t imagine what you could possibly want with me, Madame.”

“Tell me, Alva,” Vivienne said. “What do you know of the eluvians?”

The term was familiar. “Elven artifacts,” Alva said. “Ancient, powerful. Some say the elves of Arlathan used them to travel long distances, though that may be conjecture.”

“I assure you, my dear, it is not.” Vivienne’s voice was deathly serious. “We encountered more than one during my time with the Inquisition. They are very real indeed.”

For a moment Alva wondered if this was all some elaborate practical joke. The books she had read spoke of the eluvians as a magic long-lost, vanished along with the ancient elves themselves. “Where did you find them?”

“In a number of places,” Vivienne said. “Some inaccessible now. However, only one concerns me. Until recently it was installed in the Winter Palace, though it has since been moved.”

“Is it active?" Alva asked. She could not help the thrill of excitement that rushed through her; she was still a researcher at heart.

“Dormant,” Vivienne said. “For now. I was hoping that might be where you came in.”

Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Alva felt foolish for not realising sooner what this conversation had been about. “You want me to deactivate it.”

“I would like you to try.” Vivienne looked up, meeting her eyes. “As long as it can be used it poses a threat to Thedas, and no other scholar I have encountered has shown as much promise in this field. The eluvian must be destroyed, if at all possible. It is a dangerous thing.”

Alva flinched at her last words, but recovered quickly. “If I can help I will,” she said. “But I have never encountered magic of this kind before. It may take me a great deal of time, if I can do it at all.”

“I understand,” Vivienne said. “You will not be punished if you are unsuccessful. Any insight you gain, anything at all, would be worthwhile knowledge.”

“In that case, Madame,” Alva spoke carefully. “I would be delighted to assist you.”

“Thank you.” The smile that spread across the Imperial Enchanter’s face was warm, and tinged with relief. “I would prefer not to waste any time. Can you be ready to leave for Val Royeaux in the morning?”

“So soon?” Alva asked. “I’m afraid the First Enchanter may-”

“I will deal with Octavia,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Someone else can be found to handle your responsibilities here. This task is more important.”

“In that case, I suppose I can be.”

“Excellent.” Vivienne nodded her approval. “It goes without saying that you may access whatever resources that you require. The White Spire’s Formari are at your disposal, as are the books in the Imperial Library- and, of course, you have the greatest asset of all.”

“What is that, exactly?” Alva asked.

“Why, my dear,” Vivienne said, leaning back in her seat. “You have me.”


	9. Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! My assignment workload is huge atm, so I'm going to be taking a little break from updating. The semester finishes in a couple of weeks so I should be back to my usual schedule then!

The journey from Amaranthine to Kirkwall was swift. Merchant ships made the journey regularly, and it had not been difficult for Peran and his companions to organise passage. They slept in the same cramped quarters the crew did, and ate the same mealy rations, but the voyage was smooth and uneventful.

Three days after they had departed Ferelden the ship was guided into the Kirkwall docks. The great chain nets across the harbour were lifted, dripping saltwater and algae onto the deck as the ship sailed beneath them. The sun blazed in a cloudless sky, illuminating the jagged silhouette of the city.

Peran had been to Kirkwall before, on family business with his father, but not for two decades or more. They had travelled overland, and from the sea it looked like an entirely different place. Though, of course, there was more to the difference than simple perspective.

“You see that,” Sera said, walking over to Peran where he leant against the rail. “Up there.”

She pointed, and Peran looked upwards. At the city’s height, at the very top of the great stone steps that led through the urban sprawl, was a crater. Whatever rubble that had once filled it had been cleared, and the raw black stone gaped like an open wound. Peran recalled the size of the Chantry that had once stood there. It had been a vast place. He tried to imagine the kind of force required to destroy such a building, and the thought of it made his stomach tighten. This was what their quarry had done.

“All this time he’s been running around out there,” Sera said. “Can you believe that? After he did this?”

“Well,” Peran said. “Hopefully we’ll rectify that soon.”

“We better,” she said. “Did you tell Varric we’re coming?”

“I did, but I left out the why. I would appreciate it if our reasons for being here weren’t announced too soon. We need to pick our moment carefully.”

Sera shrugged. “Whatever. Just tell me when I need to make someone dead.”

“We should probably try and avoid that while we’re guests of the Viscount,” Peran said. One of the sailors called out, and ropes were thrown up to men waiting on the docks. “Looks like we’ll be getting off soon.”

“I’ll get Rainier,” she said. “Can we leave Dalish on the boat?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.” Sera wandered off to the other side of the ship, whistling to herself as she went.

Bran was waiting for them when they disembarked, with a small contingent of servants to carry their luggage. He seemed to take it a little personally when he discovered that none of them had brought more than they could carry on their backs, and kept up a crisp monologue regarding Keep etiquette all the way to Hightown. The fact that Peran was himself a Marcher noble did not seem to perturb the seneschal whatsoever.

They were almost at the keep itself when they passed the remains of the Chantry. If anything the crater seemed larger close up, and Peran could see where the explosion’s heat had fused the stone, glass-like, in the bottom of the pit.

“What kind of magic does that?” Rainer asked, shaking his head to himself.

“None I’ve ever heard of,” Tanith said quietly. “Nothing natural. Makes me feel odd just looking at it.”

Their group was subdued on the last leg of their journey, each of them mulling over the Chantry’s remains and the task that lay before them. Peran was lost in his thoughts, and did not register that they had reached the gates of the Keep until he heard a familiar voice ahead of him.

“Well, look who it is. Comte Trevelyan finally decides to pay a visit.”

Varric was standing at the entrance to the Keep, grinning at their party. He wore the circlet of his office upon his brow, and his clothes were of a richer cut than he had worn in Skyhold. Leadership suited him.

“I keep forgetting I’m a Comte,” Peran said, stepping forward to greet his old friend. “I should start writing these things down.”

“You do have an awful lot of titles for one man,” Varric said. “It’s good to see you. All of you. Come in, let me give you the tour…”

Varric led them inside the Keep, catching up with Rainer and Sera as he showed them around the stronghold. Peran remembered it being more austere when his father had come to do business with Viscount Dumar. Varric had injected some life into the place. The shutters were open, letting the summer air into the building, and minstrels mingled with the guards and courtiers. Bran scuttled off, muttering about his duties, while Varric showed them through into his private quarters.

They ate a lavish lunch on a wide balcony overlooking the city, with waves crashing beneath them and seagulls wheeling overhead. Servants kept the wine flowing, and over the course of the afternoon Varric filled them in on all that had been happening in Kirkwall since the Exalted Council. It seemed like the city was finally stabilising, and trade was as good as it had been before the Qunari invasion.

“I’m happy for you,” Peran said. “You’ve worked hard for Kirkwall. I’m glad you’re reaping the benefits.”

“What, this?” Varric asked, gesturing to the Keep and the city beyond. “Leadership is its own prison, Trev. You know that better than most.” His words belied the smile on his face.

“There’s Jennies in Kirkwall, you know,” Sera said conversationally.

“And? What are they saying?” Varric said.

She took another swig of wine. “They seem happy enough with you. You keep your people in line.”

“High praise indeed.”

“Lucky too,” she said. “Would’ve been shit otherwise. I fancy my arrows against your Bianca, but not by much.”

“Should we put a stop to this before it turns into an archery competition?” Rainier said. “I’ve still got a scar from the last one.”

Sera cackled. “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Varric said, producing a deck of cards from an inside pocket. “Any of you know how to play Diamondback?”

As it transpired, they all did. They played a few hands, but the sun and the wine had made them sluggish and eventually they gave it up as a fruitless endeavour. Varric began doing card tricks for the group’s amusement instead, his flair for the dramatic not going to waste.

“Sera,” he said. “Pick a card, any card…”

She did as she was asked, her attention focused on the quick movements of his right hand as he cut the deck several times. She didn’t see his left hand palming cards into his sleeve, but Peran did. He said nothing, deciding it would be better if the illusion went unspoiled.

After a few minutes of laborious shuffling, Varric produced a single card from his pocket with a flourish that would make any bard jealous. “Is this your card?”

“Yes! Shit!” Sera snatched the card from his hand and examined it closely. “Woah,” she laughed. “How did you do that?”

Varric shrugged. “Magic.”

“Better than the regular kind,” Sera said. “You should learn to do stuff like this, Dalish. Better than playing around with all that Fade-bollocks.”

“Tell you what,” Tanith said mildly. “Next time someone whacks you round the head with a big stick, I’ll pull some silk scarves out of your ear. How does that sound?”

Afternoon melted into evening, and when the sea breeze began to bite the group moved inside to the parlour. Varric caught Peran’s eye as they went, gesturing for him to follow with a slight tilt of his head. The two of them walked to the far side of the room, where a fire roared in a huge hearth of black stone. It was far enough away from the servants that none could eavesdrop, and Peran suspected his friend had not chosen the spot by accident. He steeled himself for what was about to come.

“It is good to see you,” Varric said. “I always hoped you’d come and visit, but never really expected you would.”

“It was overdue,” Peran said.

Varric gave him a serious look. “Listen. As much as I’d like to pretend you came here for my company, we both know that’s not true. You might as well tell me what you want.”

Peran felt a sudden rush of guilt. It was true that he had never entertained the thought of coming to Kirkwall before, though Varric had invited him many times. What did that say about him, that he had only made the journey now that his friend was useful to him? Best not to think of that now, he decided. “I suppose I can dispense with the platitudes. I need your help with something.”

“Thought as much.” Varric turned to warm his hands by the fire. He did not look angry. He looked disappointed, and that was worse. “What do you need, Trev?”

“You’re not going to like this,” Peran said.

Varric looked over his shoulder. “Hawke?”

“Anders.”

“I see.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say Cassandra sent you.”

“Not quite,” Peran said. “Varric, he was spotted in the Free Marches recently. We’re not the only ones searching for him. The Templars are baying for his blood, and so are the Wardens. With us he might stand a chance at a fair trial, at least.”

Varric chuckled mirthlessly. “A trial? Please. We both know how that would end, fair or not.”

“Maybe so,” Peran admitted. “But it’s better than a witch hunt. Better than a holy war.”

“Better for who?” Varric asked. “Not for Anders. Not for Hawke.”

“The Chantry isn’t looking for Hawke.”

“You’re a fool if you believe that,” Varric said. “They’d take her in as an accomplice quick as blinking. You’re wasting your time. I wouldn’t tell you where she was even if I knew.”

“You expect me to believe you don’t know?” Peran said. “Give me some credit, Varric.”

“I don’t,” he shrugged. “Knowing is too dangerous. Leaves us both vulnerable. I can’t be in that position, not now I have all of Kirkwall depending on me.”

Peran was not convinced, but he said nothing of it. Clearly this line of questioning would get him nowhere. “But you know she’s alive. You’ve heard from her since Adamant?”

“She sends me letters sometimes. Doesn’t exactly give a return address.”

“Varric, listen to me,” Peran sighed. “I know I’m asking a lot-”

“A lot?” he snapped. “This is more than a lot. I thought you were done with this bullshit, Trev. Why disband the Inquisition if you’re just going to keep doing dirty work for the Chantry?”

“That’s not what this is.” Peran could feel himself growing defensive. “The noose is tightening, Varric. Sooner or later someone is going to find him.”

“And that someone should be you?”

“Yes.” The word came out more forcefully than he had intended. “Who better? Cassandra would make a martyr of him, left unchecked. We both know that. But she’ll  _ listen _ to us. If we find him first we might avoid igniting another conflict. Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

“Aren’t you?” Varric asked quietly.

That gave Peran pause. “I am,” he said after a moment. “But sometimes the best way to win a battle is to ensure it doesn’t start in the first place.”

“Right.” Varric stared into the flames for a long minute. The silence that stretched out between them was punctuated by the crackling of burning logs and the sound of Sera’s voice on the other side of the room. Peran had opened his mouth to say something when Varric spoke again, not looking up from the fire. “Tantervale.”

“What?”

“Tantervale,” Varric repeated. “That’s where he was seen, a few months back. That’s all I know. It’s more than I wanted to give.”

“Thank you,” Peran said. “Truly. I know this must have been-”

“Save it.” Varric waved him to silence. “Let’s just call it a night, okay?”

Peran nodded. “Of course. Is the estate you kept for me still empty? We can stay there tonight, if you would prefer it.” It was a weak attempt to mend things between them, and they both knew it.

“It’s locked up,” Varric said. “Bran can sort out rooms for you in the Keep. I’ll have horses saddled for you in the morning.”

“We don’t need to leave so soon as that.”

“Yeah,” Varric said, turning towards the door. “Yeah, Trev, you do.”

He left Peran standing by the fire, staring uselessly after him. Peran felt wretched. He had known that Varric would not be delighted by the prospect of turning over his old friend, but Peran had hoped that he would at least understand the need to do so. Perhaps he had been naive to think it would be so easy. Perhaps he should not have involved Varric at all.

They did not linger in the parlour for long after that. It seemed odd to be there now that their host had left. Peran said little about his conversation with Varric, but it was clear that the information had come at a price. To his relief, his friends did not press the matter further.

Peran was shown to a chamber on the second floor. It was simple, more suited to a servant than a guest. He was sure this was meant as an insult, but Peran was more comfortable there than he would have been in one of the grander suites. The slight came from Bran, then. Varric would have known that.

He paused to put out the candles before retiring to bed, and in the new darkness he noticed something glowing faintly. It was coming from the corner of the room where he had left his travelsack, and he groped through the blackness towards it. He fished about in the bag for a moment before his fingers closed around smooth stone, slightly warm to the touch.

There was a chair by the fireplace, dimly visible in the light of the dying embers, and Peran took the crystal over to it. He sat down, and spoke into the stone.

“Evening.”

“Evening yourself.” Dorian’s voice was faint, and there was a low murmuring behind it. He was likely in the senate halls, taking a break between hearings. “How did your meeting with Viscount Tethras go?”

Peran sighed, placing the crystal down for a moment to rub at his eyes. “Not perfectly.”

“That’s code for terrible, then? Did he banish you from Kirkwall?”

“Not far from that. But he gave us a lead on Anders before he did it. So that’s something.”

“Oh?” Dorian’s voice raised in surprise. He had been interested to hear the details of Peran’s quest when they had spoken of it before, but had been unusually evasive when it came to his own opinion on the matter. “What did he tell you?”

“Apparently he’s been seen in Tantervale,” Peran said. “It’s not much, but it’s better than a kick in the head.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a few of those before you’re done.”

“Probably.”

There was a moment of silence. Peran recognised the quality of it; it was the pause that Dorian took before asking a question. He waited patiently for it.

“Out of interest,” Dorian said. “Why are you doing this? Looking for Anders, I mean?”

“Not you, too,” he said. “Why is everyone suddenly so concerned with my motives? It never bothered any of you before.”

“Because this is distinctly out of character.”

Peran frowned. “How so?”

“Tracking down a fugitive on behalf of the Divine, meddling in Grey Warden affairs?” he said. “It’s all politics, at the end of the day. Never your strong suit.”

“What was the Inquisition, then?” Peran asked, irritated. “I seem to recall engaging in a great deal of politics.”

“The Inquisition was necessary,” Dorian said. “For a time. Now it’s finished. I seem to remember you chose to disband because you were uncomfortable with the amount of power you were wielding. So, I’ll ask you again. Why are you doing this? Why now?”

Peran fell silent for a moment. He had a litany of excuses prepared, but something in Dorian’s voice gave him pause. In truth, he had not really considered his own motivations in this. It had simply seemed like the right thing to do. For a while he simply sat, trying to disentangle his own thoughts. “You know what’s coming, Dorian,” he said at last. “You’re one of the few people in Thedas who does.”

“Solas?”

Peran nodded, then realised Dorian could not see him. “Yes, Solas. We still know next to nothing about his plans. The world is vastly unprepared as it is. If another war were to break out now…”

“Thedas will be even more vulnerable,” Dorian finished. “Of course. Well, there we have it. That’s more the sort of reason I was looking for.”

“None of our efforts to find him turned up anything useful,” Peran said. “The best we can do is to be prepared. Make sure that people aren’t so busy fighting one another that they can’t fight him.”

“I see. Amatus, you do realise that Thedas will be even worse off if you go and get yourself killed, don’t you?” Dorian said. “Just something to think about. That’s all.”

Peran smiled into the dark. “I wasn’t intending to get myself killed.”

“People rarely do,” Dorian replied. There came the sound of a bell tolling, from somewhere near him. “Well, back to work. The Magisterium won’t harass itself.”

They said their goodbyes, and Peran made his way back to the narrow bed. It had been a long day, one that had given him much to think about. He lay there for a long time, thinking over all that had transpired, wondering if this course of action was the right one. When sleep finally found him the sky was lightening at the horizon.


End file.
